


Sempiternal (everlasting, eternal, infinite)

by Timeskipped



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Dancing, Flower Language, Getting Together, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:28:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27350476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Timeskipped/pseuds/Timeskipped
Summary: Yellow tulips: unrequited love.Tsumugi has been facing his own unrequited love since long before the tulips were planted in the garden.
Relationships: Takatoo Tasuku/Tsukioka Tsumugi
Comments: 10
Kudos: 107





	Sempiternal (everlasting, eternal, infinite)

**Author's Note:**

> A3: In this practice chat, Tsumugi talks about Tasuku planting yellow tulips :)  
> Other A3 fans: YELLOW TULIPS MEAN UNREQUITED LOVE!!!  
> Me: OH GOD I GUESS I GOTTA DIG UP MY OLD TASUTSUMU NOT-ACTUALLY-UNREQUITED LOVE FIC

Tsumugi watched Tasuku perform at God Troupe, but he doesn’t want to admit it.

Because admitting it would mean thinking about how tears welled up in his eyes when he watched Tasuku move on stage that first time, thinking about how they used to always be together. It would mean confronting the guilt that stirred inside him when he passed by a flower shop on the way to the theater, and bought flowers for Tasuku, even knowing they’d never get to their recipient.

Sakyo would call it money down the drain. Homare would call it poetic. Tasuku would call it stupid, Tsumugi’s sure, now that they’re friends again.

It’s worse than stupidity, though. Because Tsumugi knows flowers, and he knows acting, and he knows how to present flowers to an actor without indicating that there’s pining there, longing for Tasuku’s voice to wash over him once more. He imagined how it would’ve happened, when he bought the flowers, showing up uninvited to God Troupe’s theater, smile warm enough for Tasuku to fall back to him.

He thought of it that night after he got home from God Troupe’s theater, having missed his opportunity. He thought of it when he watered the flowers in the vase on a windowsill. He thought of it when they died. And then they were gone, and Tasuku was gone from his life for a moment more, simply an ache in Tsumugi’s heart.

Then, he bought the DVDs of Tasuku’s performances. Tasuku’s voice followed him once more.

He doesn’t need that now that they’re together again, and it’s embarrassing to even think about.

Still, Tsumugi gazes at Tasuku like he holds his entire world. Maybe he does, now that they take the stage together again. When Tsumugi gazes at Tasuku from across that stage, Tasuku so delicately in character, filling his heart with the feelings of his role—this is the Tasuku that Tsumugi loves, the one he loved to see as he kept walking back towards God Troupe’s theater.

It’s more than that, of course. But thinking of it like it’s only Tasuku’s acting that he loves is easier.

Love for Tasuku isn’t the same as love for acting. Tsumugi knows that, because Tasuku’s love for acting flows through him visibly, and he seems so much lighter and unburdened on Mankai’s stage, more than he ever was on God Troupe’s.

It’s easy to watch Tasuku like this and feel proud. It’s harder to admit that he longs to get back the two years they were separated; in the quiet of his own mind, Tsumugi confesses to falling in love. They're not the same as before, but Tsumugi’s love for Tasuku still lingers, like a set of lines he still remembers despite years since the last performance.

Tsumugi smiles down at his script, the one he’ll perform in God Troupe’s theater, on the same stage he watched Tasuku stand upon so many times. “Unrequited love, huh…?”

Somehow, Tsumugi knows what that’s like.

* * *

Tasuku planted yellow tulips in the garden.

Unrequited love. Impossible, unattainable. That’s what yellow tulips mean, and that’s the meaning Tsumugi ingrains into his heart. Maybe it means nothing, since Tasuku can’t possibly understand it, but to Tsumugi, staring at the bright petals, it means _everything._

It’s a sign from his heart to let go of Tasuku, but he knows he won’t, because no matter what they’ve done, he’s always wanted to be with Tasuku, onstage and off.

The flowers will survive the winter, Tsumugi will make sure, and he wills his heart not to read too much into it when Tasuku crouches next to him in the flower garden and gives him a concerned look.

“You’re pretty attached to these ones, right?” Tasuku frowns. His eyes rest on the bright yellow petals, hand reaching out hesitantly and slowing halfway through the action.

Tsumugi laughs. Tasuku doesn’t need to be afraid of hurting the flowers.

Tasuku has always been gentle. He’s purposeful, maybe not with his words, but he knows how to act with a grace that captivates everyone, and especially Tsumugi. He’d probably argue with that, if Tsumugi said it out loud, and say that Tsumugi’s acting is much more subtle—and maybe he’s right, because that’s why Tsumugi can hide his feelings, like a flower’s color dampened by white frost.

“I guess I am,” Tsumugi says. “They’re lovely, right? You planted them, and you chose them well.”

Tasuku’s cheeks grow pink with the praise.

* * *

Tsumugi stumbles across the book of flower meanings by accident.

Accidentally or not, Tsumugi feels the need for some form of repayment for accidentally looking through his things, something to tell Tasuku it wasn’t on purpose. At the same time, he wants to ask about this, his heart urging him to pry further for why Tasuku didn’t just come to him about flower meanings, instead relying on an impersonal book like this.

He wants to know if Tasuku knows the meaning of the yellow tulip he planted. Tasuku planted it himself, so the secret of Tsumugi’s feelings can’t be traced back to the one caring for the flowers, but it still hits Tsumugi, like Tasuku will figure his feelings out as soon as the question drops from Tsumugi’s lips.

The flowers Tsumugi had gotten Tasuku during the God Troupe performances, the ones he never received; they weren’t yellow tulips. Maybe it would’ve been better if they were, to give some sort of closure to the two of them. Maybe it would’ve given meaning to the act of putting them in his lonely apartment and watching them slowly wilt.

At least now they’re together. That’s all the closure Tsumugi should need, really, more than watching Tasuku onstage, now Tsumugi has found his way back to the thing he loves so dearly.

Tasuku has already found out about Tsumugi watching DVDs of his God Troupe performances.

Still, he hasn’t found out about the flowers Tsumugi bought at that time, or the endless love he’s sure filled his gaze as he watched Tasuku onstage, watching him step into the role of a perfect prince again and again. Tasuku might’ve hated it—he might’ve not truly been perfect, as an actor or as a person—but Tsumugi felt like he could see through Tasuku’s heart in the audience seats. It was a moment’s realization, a bitter drop of his heart as Tsumugi realized: _he truly loves acting, and I’m not there with him._

He’d pushed it away, naturally. Years away from theater, a crushing rejection that dug itself into Tsumugi’s core—those things aren’t easily forgotten.

But the feelings of the audience aren’t easily pushed aside either. He still remembers it clearly. Maybe Tsumugi has used it to improve, through taking roles where he needed to truly understand an unrequited love. These feelings, too, have helped Tsumugi’s acting.

And Tasuku has no idea how much he’s affected Tsumugi. Maybe he never will.

But Tasuku does know, probably, that yellow tulips mean unrequited love, and he does know that even changing the color of the chosen flower can drastically change how it’s read. If Tsumugi wanted to, he could plant flowers meaning apologies for his feelings, and maybe Tasuku would get the message.

Then again, Tsumugi isn’t sorry for his feelings. Sad, maybe, but never regretful.

* * *

Tasuku is surrounded by people, and Tsumugi sits alone in the cold, wrapped up in layers upon layers of scarves. Even if a fan of his were to look, he half-doubts they’d be able to tell it was him, unlike with Tasuku, whose God Troupe days have left him with countless people willing to pick him out of crowds.

Tasuku looks uncomfortable, mouth pressed into that thin line that smooths out whenever he seems to remember that these are his _fans,_ people who want to see more of his acting.

It’s always about acting with him. Habits from God Troupe don’t die out so quickly, but unlike before, when Tsumugi rushed out of God Troupe Q&A sessions before Tasuku could meet his eyes, Tsumugi now willingly watches him head on. He doesn’t feel like he should run when Tasuku meets his gaze, shoulders somehow relaxing under his heavy coat.

Pride, maybe, sparks inside Tsumugi when Tasuku comes jogging over.

“Sorry about that,” Tasuku says, and Tsumugi stands to meet him. Tasuku steps back, proximity overwhelming the fact that they’ve surely walked so much closer in the past. Too close, for this moment; Tasuku’s fans are still in the edges of their vision. Tsumugi doesn’t push, shrugging and falling into step beside him.

“It’s fine, Tasuku.” The name rolls off his tongue easily. Tsumugi licks his lips. “It’s good to have dedicated fans.”

Tasuku falls silent.

Tsumugi wonders if he’s said something wrong, but that can’t be right. More than that, Tasuku looks to be lost in thought, eyes trained towards the pavement beneath their feet. Tsumugi knows Tasuku well, enough to understand that pushing him to talk about his thoughts will result in a short, clipped sentence. Tasuku has to understand himself first, analyze himself like he would a role, mark notes in the margins.

Tsumugi still wants to ask. He doesn’t, though, just watches the breath ghost in front of their faces, puffy and white in the freezing air. He’s not sure what Tasuku will say next.

“I think,” Tasuku starts, and when he stops moving, Tsumugi takes two steps ahead of him before turning back to face him again. “You don’t need to be mindful of them. Just come and get me instead of waiting for me to find a chance to leave.”

Ah. So it’s like that. “You don’t want to talk to them.”

“No, it’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” Tsumugi asks, and wonders if this is a white lie he should let rest. Maybe the person Tsumugi was before he joined Mankai would’ve watched Tasuku’s discomfort sit on his expression, content to let him bottle up whatever feelings were there. But as much as Tsumugi believes that Tasuku is capable of dealing with his feelings, he also believes that Tasuku wants something different.

Is it selfish, for Tsumugi to want to help Tasuku find that something?

“They see me as someone I’m not.” Tasuku’s eyebrows furrow. “All they know of me is God Troupe’s top star. They don’t even care about who I’ve become.”

“Well, you were very impressive back then,” Tsumugi teases. Tasuku glares at him.

“You know that’s not true,” Tasuku says. “Maybe I was a good actor, but even as the _star,_ ” his nose wrinkles, as if offended by the mere notion of being in the center of God Troupe again, “I was just an actor. Aren’t you the one who criticizes me most as Winter Troupe’s leader? You don’t have to compliment me, I know I have a long way to go.”

Tsumugi hums. “You’re reaching new heights with every show, though,” he says, and realizes that he could tell Tasuku, right now, that he watched him in God Troupe, that he loved his acting more than anything. He curls his fingers into fists, as if he were holding the flowers he never gave him. “Even back then, people loved you for a reason.”

“Are you jealous?”

Tsumugi’s head whips around to stare at Tasuku. His mouth is frozen open, breathing cold air into his lungs. “I—No.” He’s not jealous, not really. Probably. “Maybe a little,” he swallows thickly, shoving his hands into his coat, “just because you were able to be onstage, and I didn’t have the courage. Taachan—” he cuts himself off.

Tasuku doesn’t correct him on the name like Tsumugi expects him to. They’re still walking a bit further apart than normal. The fans are long gone, and it’s just them; the distance could be breached, the wall collapsing around them. Tsumugi’s heart beats in his ears.

Tasuku frowns. “Were you…” he pauses, eyes meeting Tsumugi’s with hesitance, “happy during the time we were apart?”

“I don’t know,” Tsumugi says, but he makes himself smile anyway. “I had a lot of good things, but I missed the stage. I’m glad I’m back.” _I missed you, too._ He doesn’t voice that thought, because he knows that Tasuku won’t understand the true intention behind it.

_Unrequited love._

They keep walking. Their shoulders bump on the way home.

* * *

They’re alone in their room, looking over their new script. Tasuku has his pencil out, and Tsumugi can’t imagine a more normal scene than Tasuku putting his all into his role. Tsumugi wonders if he did the same in God Troupe, even if he kept on being turned into a prince, endlessly fighting against the theme of eternity that Kamikizaka loved so much.

But even if Tasuku hated the repetition, Tsumugi is sure he threw himself at the script, even then.

Repetition and eternity remind Tsumugi of the time loop—a thought he tries to keep out of his mind. The very concept exhausts him, turns him awkward and off-kilter. It was a strange experience, and he’s not sure what effect it’s had on him. On _them._

Tsumugi sets down his script. “Don’t you think it’s time for a break?” Tasuku’s been sitting there, reading it for at least since Tsumugi came back from the garden.

Tasuku grunts, sound almost lost in the pattering of rain on the window.

“Tasuku.” Tsumugi finds himself smiling at Tasuku, whose eyes still haven’t turned towards him, who is still and unmoving against the grey window. If he can’t make him take a break by normal means, then he’ll have to do something special for Tasuku, specifically. The thought lights something warm inside him. “Teach me something you learned at God Troupe.”

The name of the troupe is what gets Tasuku to stop muttering stage directions under his breath. Of course, this request has to do with _acting,_ so Tasuku will be compelled to complete it.

“Are you serious?” Tasuku asks, looking at Tsumugi.

“When have I ever joked about something like this?”

“...Okay.” Tasuku stands and takes out his phone. His script is dropped on the table, and Tsumugi catches the dark handwriting that is uniquely Tasuku’s. It’s only been a couple days since they got it, but it’s already covered. He covers his mouth with his hand to keep Tasuku from seeing his smile—not that it matters, because Tasuku is looking intently at his phone.

Music comes from the phone’s speakers as Tasuku sets it on the table. The rain fades into the sound until Tsumugi is barely aware of it with the realization of how slow the music is, and how Tsumugi thinks he knows what Tasuku is going to show him.

Tasuku turns back to Tsumugi. “Do you want to dance?”

Tasuku looks serious as he holds out his hand, but Tsumugi can see the nerves he’s hiding, too; his arm looks almost awkward hanging there between them, though Tsumugi doubts anyone else would notice. So Tsumugi relieves him of that weight, taking it in his own, pressing their palms together.

“It’s not like you to ask me to dance,” Tsumugi laughs. Tasuku lets out a puff of air from his nose and pulls him closer for the steps to begin. “But I’m happy.”

There’s a space in between Tsumugi’s heartbeats where he thinks that his feelings will overwhelm him. It’s sweet, how Tasuku pulls him out to dance, the light falling over them and casting shifting shadows as they move, not quite sure of their exact positions. Perhaps they should’ve asked Azuma or someone else for advice, for instructions on how to do this since it’s been so long, at least on Tsumugi’s part, but—

Tsumugi thinks he’d rather be selfish, and keep this moment to himself. Like this, he can smile up at Tasuku, moving his feet to a rhythm that gets established quickly. Tasuku’s hand rests at Tsumugi’s waist, and Tsumugi loves it.

He loves it in all the ways he loves Tasuku, with a warmth that confuses him every time, and yet settles easily into his heart.

“I’m not surprised you’re good at this,” Tsumugi says lightly, as if he hasn’t imagined them dancing together at least once. He remembers watching Tasuku, sometime in high school, struggling to get the steps right for a ball scene, determined to get it right. He remembers laughing as Tasuku tripped over his feet.

Tsumugi had helped him right himself, but he hadn’t asked to dance. It had seemed too much, at the moment, like something about Tasuku’s closeness would daze him.

Now, being so near to each other, chest against chest, makes Tsumugi feel like he wants to pull this moment into his memory, capture it until he feels like their feelings fit together into a cohesive whole. Even if this is just an act, if it fades into nothing more than another memory with Tasuku, Tsumugi will treasure this dance. It’s Tasuku, after all.

Tasuku smiles. “You’re pretty good too. I thought you didn’t dance.”

“Not in _high school,_ ” Tsumugi counters. “But I learned—I think it was some time in college? I thought you knew.” He smiles sheepishly. He would’ve told Tasuku, if only…

Maybe, if only he had the courage to ask Tasuku to dance, instead of letting his unrequited love fall to the side.

The past between them is an intersecting mess of lines, always parallel even when they don’t touch; yet some things about Tsumugi are unknown to Tasuku, and always will be. Pieces like flowers and stages they never shared, winters spent without the other, two years of watching and never calling out. This love, too, may be a part of that unknown, the pieces of themselves they keep close to their chests.

Tsumugi wants to know Tasuku, and to be known by Tasuku, and all he has to do is ask.

Tasuku’s eyes are shining despite the shadows. He’s smiling, like there's nowhere else but here. This moment is their stage, and Tsumugi understands why he was asked to dance—because it’s new, something they’ve never done, but also because the only thing Tsumugi has ever known is how to orbit around this sort of stage.

The stars are aligning, and if Tsumugi wanted to, he could use their gravity to move closer. In this space, with the stars in their eyes, Tsumugi thinks he could make a life with this unrequited love work.

“I wanted to tell you,” Tasuku says before Tsumugi can find the words, “how much you mean to me. Not about what you meant to me before we joined Mankai, and not what you mean to Winter Troupe, or anyone else. I mean me, right now.”

“You mean the Tasuku I go onstage with every play? I don’t need you to put it into words.”

Tsumugi remembers the stage lights in God Troupe’s theater, the weight of the wings on his back during Sympathy for the Angel, the weight of the debt they were trying to erase. Tsumugi remembers meeting Tasuku’s eyes and feeling his heart beat faster, but not out of nerves.

“Still, even without acting,” Tasuku says, and they lapse into silence. Tasuku doesn’t elaborate on what he wants to say, and Tsumugi doesn’t push him; they just keep dancing. It’s peaceful, the kind of peace that comes in a lull before something important is going to happen.

The music swells around them.

“Yellow tulips,” Tasuku blurts. The words fall heavily on Tsumugi’s shoulders. “They mean unrequited love.”

Tsumugi is silent for another long moment, but he doesn’t stop moving his feet. Backwards, to the side, forwards, to the side, and back. Box steps, in time with Tasuku. He doesn’t let himself stumble, but he does let his voice drop, quiet between them. This is a secret only for Tasuku’s ears, even though nobody else is there. “...Yes.”

“...You’re not going to ask why I know that.” It’s not quite a question when Tasuku says it. “I thought it was nice that you cared for them as much as you did.”

“I was surprised,” Tsumugi says, and tries to shed his shame, “that you got a book of flower meanings—I didn’t mean to see it, I promise. I wasn’t mad, of course. Just surprised, and maybe a little jealous.”

“Jealous?” Tasuku looks so confused that he can’t help but laugh. Tasuku grips Tsumugi’s hand tighter, and Tsumugi squeezes back.

“Is it that strange, that I’d be jealous of a book you bought? Taachan, is it ridiculous for me to want you to ask me instead of looking into it from somewhere else?” He’s smiling, but his heart is beating faster, unsure if his hand is being shown. He wonders if Tasuku can hear it, even with his rib cage protecting his feelings.

“Don’t call me Taachan, Tsumu,” Tasuku says, probably out of habit and nothing more. He presses his lips together. Tsumugi recalls the way he looked at his fans, and thinks of his mental catalogue of Tasuku’s expressions: Tasuku wants to say something, but fears it’s too awkward. That he won’t get it across, even with Tsumugi.

“It’s okay,” Tsumugi says, relieving Tasuku of the weight of this conversation. “Just because I’m jealous doesn’t mean you have to apologize or anything. Flower language is good to know.”

“Yeah, but…” Tasuku lets go first. His palm’s warmth leaving Tsumugi’s makes Tsumugi feel subtly cold, like he’s failed in drawing together the space between them; it’s an impossible task for people like them, maybe, but Tsumugi still wants it.

Tsumugi’s fingers release Tasuku’s hand slowly before he steps back.

Tasuku isn’t meeting his eyes. Tsumugi himself lets his eyes wander towards Tasuku’s shelf, and spots the spine of the book with the flower meanings; the book is dark pink, contrasting against the rest of the books and scripts there. Tsumugi waits for Tasuku to speak; if he doesn’t say anything, Tsumugi will ask to read the book, to see what Tasuku’s learned.

“Tsumugi.”

When Tsumugi meets his eyes again, looping around their room like a runner in an endless romantic race, he finds himself staring. Tasuku’s face is a neutral calm, like the moment before he steps onstage and into his role.

“My unrequited love is for you.” It’s a graceless confession, defeat weathering Tasuku’s voice as he admits that he believes it’s unrequited, that Tsumugi couldn’t feel the same, as if Tasuku doesn’t hold Tsumugi’s entire world in his hands.

Tsumugi’s breath leaves his lungs. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

Tasuku’s face is drawn into a deep frown, and Tsumugi feels the desperate need to move closer and press it back into a smile, back to when they were dancing and Tsumugi felt like anything could happen—in a way, it happened perfectly. “It’s not unrequited.”

Tasuku’s eyes snap upwards, that calm acceptance from before washing away and leaving hope in its place.

Tsumugi laughs as his own wave of relief washes over him. “Then, the yellow tulips, they were about _your_ feelings for _me._ ” Tsumugi can barely believe it. “I thought—it was a bit dramatic, but I thought it was a sign that I should let go of _my_ feelings for _you._ ” He giggles into his hand. It’s ridiculous.

“Stop laughing, it’s not funny,” Tasuku says. His cheeks are red. “I was trying to confess in a way you’d understand, but you weren’t getting it.”

“Well…” Tsumugi steps closer, holding out his hand, “not many people would get that, but I understand it now. I thought my love for you would forever be hidden, you know. I’ve been thinking of you this whole time. So, will you dance with me, Tasuku? I’ll lead, this time.”

Tasuku lights up at the suggestion, features softening as he smiles. His hand clasps Tsumugi’s tighter than before, fingers slotting together. He’s recovered himself, it seems, and he sparkles like the Tasuku that Tsumugi has always loved: the one happy with himself, in love with the stage in a way Tsumugi could always understand.

This time, he knows that Tasuku loves him, too.

* * *

The next morning, Tsumugi wakes up when Tasuku has already left.

It’s a day without practice for the Winter Troupe, so the sun is already high, lighting up the room. Since Tasuku is nowhere to be seen, Tsumugi is alone as he catches sight of a tulip in a cup of water on his desk. He approaches it slowly at first, fingers gently caressing the petals of the lone flower. It leans towards the sun streaming from the window, haloing it’s red petals.

Next to it, the book of flower meanings is left open.

_Red tulips: Fame and eternal love._

**Author's Note:**

> Tasutsumu can have stupid pining. As a treat <3
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
